Harold Plodder and the Foyer of Vagueness
by ThE fLoWeR cHiLd Of ThE 6o'S
Summary: Harold Plodder can't wait to leave the Durskeys' and get back to Pigzits. But a mysterious creature warns that trouble will strike, and strike it does. Students are being turned into giant, wobbly jell-o statues, and Harold himself is the suspect!


**Hello dedicated readers! I've FINALLY got it done! YAAAAAAAAY! Yes, I am continuing. It's just between three other fictionpress stories, all my homework and family stuff that I haven't had time to do this. But I finished chapter one! YAAAY! I am so happy. Well anyway, for new people, this is the sequel to Harold Plodder and the Alchemist's Rock, so if you haven't read that, you should read it first. It's pretty epic. I loved writing it, and I already love writing this. DISCLAIMERS: I do not own Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, but I DO own the following: the bacon stuck to Uncle Herman's cheek, Harold's new wisecracks, Harold's ability to yell at the narrator and freeze the story, Aunt Pansy's favorite rosebush, and the ice cream cake. Happy reading everyone! Sorry for the wait!**

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><p><strong>Harold Plodder and the Foyer of Vagueness<strong>

**Chapter 1: Harold's Most Horrible Birthday**

For about the hundredth time, a very violent argument had broken out during breakfast at 7 Pickle Drive. Herman Durskey had been woken up at three in the morning by a loud, ear-piercing screech that came from Harold's room. And it wasn't Harold.

"Seventh time this week!" he roared at Harold from across the table. "If you can't control that mutant bird, I'm throwing it up the chimney!"

Harold rolled his eyes, exasperated, and tried to explain. _Again._

"She's _bored,_" he said. "She likes to fly around and stretch her wings! How would you like it if you were stuck in a cage for the entire summer?"

"That's not the point!"

"Yes it is! She has feelings too, you know! Why don't you just let me let her out at night -"

"Do I look stupid?" snarled Uncle Herman, leaning towards Harold. Harold would've said no if a large strip of bacon hadn't been stuck to the side of his face.

"Yes," he replied, trying hard not to laugh. "You have bacon stuck to your face."

Uncle Herman ripped the bacon off and was about to strangle Harold when Spudley emitted a loud burp.

"Can I have that?" he grunted, pointing to Uncle Herman's clenched fist.

"Of course you can!" Aunt Pansy swept over, took the bacon from her husband, and gave it to her son. "We have to feed you up as much as you can while you're home! I don't like the sounds of that school food…"

"_I _never went hungry when _I _was at Smellings," said Uncle Herman, puffing out his chest, which only emphasized how fat he really was in Harold's opinion.

Spudley grinned. He shifted himself so that equal portions of his large butt drooped over either side of the chair.

"Pass the frying pan."

"What's the magic word?" asked Harold irritably.

The Durskeys' reaction to these four words was astonishing: Spudley gasped, burped, and fell off his chair with a crash that shook the entire dining room; Mrs. Durskey leaped up from her seat and backed into the refrigerator, screaming; Mr. Durskey jumped out of his chair so fast that it toppled over.

"Oh, come on!" cried Harold. "I meant 'please'! I wasn't talking about -"

"WHAT HAVE WE TOLD YOU," roared Uncle Herman, "ABOUT USING THE 'M' WORD UNDER THIS ROOF?"

"But I didn't mean -"

"WHAT IF YOUR VOICE DRIFTS OUT THE WINDOW AND KNOCKS ON THE DOORS OF OUR NEIGHBORS?"

"Knocks on the _doors?_ What are you talking about -"

"DO YOU THINK WE _WANT_ OUR NEIGHBORS TO FIND OUT THAT WE HAVE A KID LIKE YOU LIVING HERE?"

"Hey, that's not very nice!" Harold protested.

"IF YOU DON'T STOP WITH THE WISE CRACKS _RIGHT NOW_ -"

"All right!" Harold cut him off. "For goodness sakes, calm down before you explode your arteries."

Uncle Herman glared at him and sank back into his chair, breathing like a winded wild animal.

"You sound like an animal in labor," Harold informed him.

"I'LL GET YOU FOR THAT, BOY!" screamed Uncle Herman, lunging for Harold.

Ever since Harold had come back for summer vacation, Uncle Herman had treated him as though he was harboring a dangerous criminal. Harold wasn't a criminal of any kind, but he was unusual for most boys his age. He was a wizard, fresh from his first year at Pigzits Academy of Magical Education, and he missed it so bad that he felt like he was going to explode. The many passageways of the school, the sing-the-lyrics doors that used to torment him but now just made him laugh, eating his meals in the Great Dining Room, sleeping in his dormitory, visiting his giant buddy, Hagger, in his shack down by the Big Scary Forest, and most of all, playing Quippish on his Cumulonimbus Two-Thousand.

The moment Harold had stepped into the house, Uncle Herman had mugged him, taking his trunk and all his magical belongings and locking them in the cabinet above the refrigerator. They couldn't care less if Harold went back to Pigzits with absolutely no homework done. Poor Helga had been locked into her cage so Harold couldn't send his friends any letters.

Harold Plodder was famous in the wizarding world. When he was only one year old, he -

"Wait a second," said Harold, holding out his arms. The scene had frozen; Uncle Herman was stretched over the table with his fist pulled back, ready to punch him in the face.

"You're not going to tell the readers my entire life history AGAIN, are you?" snapped Harold, getting up from his chair and backing away from the table. "They've already heard it all in the last parody!" He rolled his eyes at the narrator. "You can just skip that part. Keep telling the story. No wait, hold on." Harold reached under the table and dragged Spudley's chair over to where Harold had been sitting, directly in the path of Uncle Herman's fist. Grinning, he pulled his chair over to Spudley's old spot and said, "Okay, you can continue."

Uncle Herman's fist shot forward and connected with Spudley's jaw. Spudley yelped in pain and spit out a wad of bacon.

"HEY!" he yelled. "What was that for?"

"What - Spudley?" Uncle Herman stared at him incomprehensively. "But you - Harold was - how did you -" He whipped around and glared at Harold. "WHAT DID YOU DO, BOY?" he roared, lunging again.

"STOP IT!" yelled Aunt Pansy, strutting out of her protective corner. "As much as I'd like you to strangle that Plodder kid, Herman, we have much more important matters to discuss."

Again, Uncle Herman sank back into his chair. "You're right," he puffed, shooting an angry glare in Harold's direction. "After all, today is a very important day, is it not?"

Harold jumped out of his chair, cheering. "Yes it is! It's my birthday! You've finally remembered! And we're gonna celebrate and everything -"

"SHUT UP, BOY!" roared Uncle Herman. "Who cares about the day _you _came into the world?"

"Almost the entire wizarding population," Harold answered promptly. Spudley rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, well, _we_ don't." Uncle Herman cleared his throat. "Because today is the day I will make the biggest deal of my entire career!" He puffed out his chest, and Harold made vomiting motions into his plate until Aunt Pansy smacked him with the newspaper.

"Let's go over the plan, shall we?" said Uncle Herman, for about the hundredth time this week. "At eight o' clock, we should all be in position. Pansy, you'll be -?"

"In the doorway, waiting to eagerly shake their hands and drag them into our house," she answered.

"Very good. Spudley?"

"I'll be right next to her to open the door." He put on a falsetto girlish voice. "May I take your purse, Mrs. Wilson, and your wallet, Mr. Wilson?" He grinned evilly.

"They'll _adore _him!" cried Aunt Pansy, completely oblivious to her son's intentions as usual.

"Perfect, Spudley," said Uncle Herman smartly, also oblivious. He rounded on Harold. "And _you?_"

"I'll be in my room, experiencing no happiness and pretending I've never been born," said Harold automatically.

"Exactly," said Uncle Herman with relish. "Pansy, you will lead them into the dining room, where I'll be ready to fill them up with alcohol. At eight fifteen -"

"I'll sit them down for dinner," said Aunt Pansy.

"And I'll tie napkins 'round their necks," added Spudley. He smirked again. "Shall I tighten your napkins, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson?"

"He's such a gentleman!" cooed Aunt Pansy.

"And _you?_" Uncle Herman leered at Harold.

"I'll be in my room, experiencing no happiness and pretending I've never been born," said Harold automatically.

"Precisely. Now we should work on our conversation ideas until they get drunk. Pansy?"

"Herman tells me you're an _excellent _fisherman, Mr. Wilson…please tell me what you did with your hair today, Mrs. Wilson," she reeled off.

"Spudley?"

"I've got one - 'We had to write an essay about who we think should take over the country as President, Mr. Wilson, and I wrote about _you._'"

That was too much for both Aunt Pansy and Harold. Aunt Pansy burst into tears and hugged her whale of a son, while Harold shoved his fist in his mouth and ducked under the table to hide his laughter.

"And _you_, boy?"

Harold came back up, his grin disappearing. "I'll be in my room, experiencing no happiness and pretending I've never been born."

"You've got that right, pal," Uncle Herman said loudly. "The Wilsons don't have any idea that you exist, and it's going to stay that way. Now, Pansy, when the Wilsons are good and drunk, you'll help me lead them into the living room, where I'll be ready to set my terms. Mr. Wilson's always more agreeable when he's under the influence, I've seen it at the office. If all goes as planned, I'll have the document signed and we'll be shopping for a beach house in Florida tomorrow."

Harold wasn't too excited about this. He didn't see the point in going to Florida if they weren't even stopping in Disney World.

"Now, Spudley and I are going to shop for dinner jackets. And _you _stay out of your aunt's way while she's cleaning, you hear?" he snarled, jabbing a finger at Harold.

"Got it," he muttered.

He went out into the backyard, mumbling to himself, "Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me." No cards, no presents, and he was supposed to spend the rest of the day pretending not to exist. Great. He missed Don and Heidi so much. Why hadn't they sent him any letters? They promised him over and over that they would.

"Guess they don't miss me after all," he said to himself. Angrily, he stared into a rosebush, wondering if he could set it on fire for his own amusement, but he knew if he did he'd be kicked out of school. The Durskeys didn't know that he wasn't allowed to use magic; it was Harold's only power over them, and the only reason they didn't lock _him_ up along with his wand, broomstick, and suitcase. He liked muttering made-up words under his breath whenever Spudley was around, because his cousin had wet himself with terror on more than one occasion.

Harold jumped suddenly. He was still staring into the bush absentmindedly, but now - _two bright blue eyes were staring back at him._

"I know what day it is," sang a nasally voice. Spudley was waddling towards him, and the huge eyes blinked and vanished.

"So?" snapped Harold, fuming. "Let's all announce it to the world, then, how you've finally figured out how to name the days of the week."

"Not _that _day," Spudley jeered, not at all deterred. "It's your _birthday_."

"Well no shit, Spudley, I only just yelled it to all of you idiots during breakfast," he replied coolly. "The only thing _you've _proven is that you don't have short term memory loss."

"Why don't you have any cards?" he pressed. "Don't you have friends at that freak place? And why do you keep staring into that rosebush?"

"Because I want to set it on fire and I'm trying to decide which curse to use," said Harold automatically.

It worked. Spudley started backing away. "No! You can't! Mom said you couldn't! It's her favorite rosebush! Dad will kill you!"

"Not if I kill him first!" Harold jumped up, staring at the rosebush with an intense expression. "_Mimble wimble, fleedley deedley, jiggery wiggly -"_

"MOOOMMMMM!" wailed Spudley, tripping over his feet as he ran into the house. "HE'S GONNA KILL DAD AND SET YOUR ROSEBUSH ON FIRE!"

Harold paid dearly for his fun. He got beaned with Aunt Pansy's frying pan as he walked through the door, and sent to do a bunch of ridiculous chores. Like cutting the grass with a pair of scissors, for example.

_Wish they could see the great Harold Plodder now,_ Harold thought mutinously, snipping away at the lawn.

When he came in, sweating and covered in grass and dirt, Aunt Pansy shoved him into a chair and slapped down a plate with a piece of buttered bread on it.

"Eat!" she hissed. "And hurry up! It's quarter to eight!"

Harold ate his pitiful excuse for a dinner, staring longingly at the beautiful ice cream cake that had been carefully frosted and decorated by Aunt Pansy all afternoon. The second he finished, she whipped his plate away and snapped, "Out! Up to your bedroom!" She hurried to the doorway, Spudley waddling after her.

Harold bolted up the stairs just as the doorbell rang. As he was closing the door to his room, Uncle Herman's furious face appeared around the banister.

"Remember, boy - one sound -" He drew a finger across his throat for emphasis.

Harold shut the door quietly and made for his bed, exhausted, ready to flop down onto the covers.

The problem was, there was already someone sitting on it.

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><p><strong>TADAA! Oh yes, I enjoy this story ^_^ well review please, or I'll have Uncle Herman threaten your life too! And I'll try to get chapter 2 up soon! If you wanna check out my fictionpress stuff, my name is DrEaMs 0r ReAlItY. I'm in the process of writing stuff so there's not much on there yet. But there will be!<strong>


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